


I Spy My Little Eye

by HeavensCrack



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Book and Show Canon, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jaskier and Essi are good friends, Jaskier is a big brother, Little Eye, Minor Essi/Geralt, There is absolutely no romance between the bards, a touch of unrequited love, between Geralt and Jaskier, blink and you miss it - Freeform, like very limited, slice of life?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavensCrack/pseuds/HeavensCrack
Summary: A series of moments between Jaskier and his little sister Essi.
Relationships: Essi Daven & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	I Spy My Little Eye

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Mitch (who will never read it due to sad), thanks for reminding me how much I love Essi and how sad A Little Sacrifice is. I wish we got to see more of her and more of their friendship, but alas. 
> 
> This work is a bit of a bastardization of book and show canon, as well as just whatever I wanted to make up. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It starts with a little girl and a lute. 

She sits in the tavern, staring with such fervor as he plucks the strings. She looks almost too young to be here, but the hunger in her gaze matches his own, when he was about her age. The first time he saw a lute in the dusty old music chamber, he _knew_ it would be his. 

He winks at her, raising his voice and letting his notes soar. He hops off the table and bows as he finishes his set, accepting the offered ale gratefully. 

He sits down at an empty table. It doesn’t take long for the young girl to plop next to him. She looks to be 12, 13 maximum. She’s the same age as his littlest sister, or should be. Not that he’s seen her recently. 

“Hello, Poppet,” he says cheerfully. 

“That’s not my name,” she sniffs. “I’m not a kid.” 

“Sure,” he agrees. “And what is your name?”

“I don’t give my name to strangers.” Smart, this girl. 

He wonders where her parents are, but then again, family isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. She might be on her own. That thought breaks his heart a little. Nobody should be on their own. Especially not so young. 

“I’m Jaskier,” he tells her. “That’s not my given name, but it’s mine all the same. All my friends call me Jaskier.” 

“Like the witcher?” the girl questions. He smiles.

“Yes, Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia! He’s my dearest friend.”

“Is that why you write songs about him?” 

“Yes,” he says honestly. “He’s very special to me. He acts very grumpy, but he protects me. I’m not good at fighting like him, so I protect him in other ways. I write songs.” 

“How does that protect him?” she frowns. 

“Music has a magic of its own,” Jaskier says. “It has the power to make you feel. That’s what I do. I feel safe around Geralt, so I put that feeling into my songs, so other people can understand and feel it too.” His smile falters. “Toss a Coin is popular, but there’s still a lot of people who don’t feel it yet. So I just have to try harder!” 

“I think I felt it,” she says slowly. 

Jaskier’s grinning now. “Really?” 

She nods, eyeing his lute carefully. 

Jaskier treasures his lute. It’s a mighty gift from the king of the elves, a kindness that likely will never be granted again. It’s a reminder of his first adventure with Geralt, how Geralt saved a young man he barely knew and let him follow him. It’s what he plays on the nights when Geralt doesn’t growl at him to shut up and sleep, what he plays on the nights even when Geralt does tell him that. This lute is delicate, and priceless beyond remember.

He doesn’t hesitate to pass it to the kid. “You try.” 

Her face lights up, and it’s worth the risk of damage just for that. “You mean it?” 

She sounds awful. She doesn’t know any chords and she plucks at the strings a little too hard. But that’s okay, because there is a fierce delight and determination in her one visible little eye, the golden curls obscuring the other that he’s sure is just as filled with passion. 

“Here, Little Eye,” he says. “May I?” She nods, and he moves her fingers along the fretboard, putting them in position. “This is an A chord, it’s a very common…”

Her name is Essi Daven. She’s 12 years old, and she’s already showing incredible promise on the lute. And almost immediately, Jaskier knows that he would protect this girl with his life. She tells him she doesn’t have a family, but he knows that’s wrong. She’s got him. 

She decides that she wants to learn the lute further and asks him to stay. So he does. He discovers she has a remarkable voice, and over the weeks, they learn more about each other. He tells her about his sisters (he doesn’t say how though her dark blue eyes aren’t the same, she reminds him of them), about travelling with Geralt, about his experiences wandering the road. She tells him of the village, and how she wishes she could wander. 

He asks her if she wants to learn from the real masters. He only graduated a couple years ago, he’s still very fresh in the minds of his teachers. With his sponsorship (not that he’s famous yet, but he is well-loved by the staff), she can thrive. 

He tries teaching her everything he knows along their way. Before he knows it, they’re at the gates of the university. 

“You’re going to be extraordinary,” Jaskier tells her, hugging her tightly. His throat swells, and he can hardly believe she’s going. Still, it’s spring, and he has places to be, places too dangerous for her. 

“I’m going to be better than you,” she agrees, before prancing over the bridge and into Oxenfurt. He can’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. Oxenfurt won’t know what hit them. 

***

“Essi Daven!” Jaskier shouts. The woman- sweet Melitele, she is almost a woman now, the same age he was when he first met Geralt- turns, her mouth wide when she sees who interrupted her. He’s seen her many times over the last few years, but it never actually struck him that she was growing up. Where did his little Poppet go?

“I have some criticism on the quality of your performance, if you’ll have it,” he saunters over. She puts her hands on her hips, glaring at him with such fire. “I don’t know who trained you, but they deserve to be fired. Honestly.” 

He breaks into a massive grin and opens his arms, the smaller woman jumping into them and hugging him tight. He swings her around, laughing loudly. “Oh, Little Eye,” he says into her shoulder, “you were _magnificent._ If you don’t win this, I am calling bollocks. Your imagery with the crackling leaves? Brilliant, Poppet, I was in tears.” 

“I’ll make you cry again if you call me Poppet again,” she complains. 

“I’m sure you will.” 

He asks how she’s doing, what she’s been up to. They talk for what seems like hours but no time at all before she shoves him away gently. 

“You’re here for the competition, then?” she asks. “Good. I’m ready to congratulate you on your second place finish for ballads.” 

“Not first?” he quirks his eyebrow up. 

“That will be going to me, old man!” 

He sputters, pretending to be all offended, but he can’t help but laugh. 

It ends with the victory going to Little Eye. He’s never been prouder of a loss. 

***

 _Introduce your two favourite people in the world,_ Jaskier thinks. _It’ll go swimmingly._ And it does! Honestly, he didn’t expect they would hit it off quite as well as they do. 

He’s proud. His dear Little Eye can charm the pants off anyone. He just didn’t think anyone would be… well, he doesn’t begrudge either of them their happiness. 

So he raises a glass and slings his arm around Geralt’s shoulder, and he croons some notes across the table, grinning widely when Essi harmonizes. 

He spends the week on the coast with them, delighting at the smiles she drags out of Geralt’s lips, the constant back and forth of jokes and jabs. The seabreeze is good for them, he decides. They can be happy here. 

He scours the beach for hours looking for something just as precious as his Poppet, the expression on her face completely worth the sandy trousers and fingers stinking of shellfish when he hands her the shell. Even though he doesn’t claim it as his gift, he delights at the twinkle in her eye. 

Later, the silver pendant with the sky blue pearl shines half as bright as her smile as Jaskier pulls back her hair and clasps it around her neck. 

The week ends too soon before he has to say goodbye. He grabs her and pulls her close, burying his face in her shoulder. He rocks them back and forth, not willing to let go just yet. 

“Stay safe,” he whispers into her hair. 

“Unlike you,” she says, “I don’t need a big, strong witcher to keep me safe.” 

“Oh, you shit,” he grins, despite his eyes welling up.

“Thank you for the wonderful birthday,” she kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll have to make sure to make yours something special. What are you turning, 50?” 

“Little Eye!” He gasps, pushing her away. He’s not even 30, the brat. “You devil. The only gift I could want is Valdo Marx shoved under a stampeding horse, if you can’t manage that, I suppose seeing you is the only thing I could possibly desire more.” 

“Sap,” she teases. “I promise you I’ll be safe.” 

He hugs her once again, just because he can. Yes, they should come back to the coast more often. 

*** 

It’s a year later that he gets invited to Cintra. He’s with Essi when the letter arrives, both of them getting piss-drunk on the cheap wine in Novigrad. The exasperated messenger’s expression only gets more pained when a shocked Jaskier embraces him and Essi shrieks with joy. So maybe they’re just a liiiiiiittle inebriated. A few “me? Really, me?”s and “YES! YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY!”s later, the man flees and leaves them alone. 

“A round for everyone,” Jaskier shouts. The whole tavern, who hadn't been paying attention, cheers. If nothing else gets their attention, the promise of free drinks will. 

“Essi,” he says. “My dear, dear Poppet, it has happened. The Lioness of Cintra has personally called for me. Imagine what Geralt- oh, Geralt!” Jaskier hastily stands, slinging his lute over his shoulder. He blinks. Is the room supposed to sway like that? No matter. He kisses Essi’s hand and hurries to the door. 

“Jaskier!” She shouts after him, but he can’t hear. “The drinks!” She sighs, resigning herself to paying his tab, not for the first time. She’ll just take some of his pay from this new gig. “That prick.” 

***

He’s not usually one for tears. Not when it actually matters, that is. He’ll cry over anything small, he cries when he hears an absolutely beautiful piece, he cries at tiny dogs, he cries at beautiful stories (like Pavetta and Duny). 

And he cries when he’s left behind. 

Geralt’s threatened to leave him behind many times if he sleeps in, but he never actually does. He waits, because he cares about Jaskier, and he actually wants him around. They’re friends. Jaskier always leaves first when they both feel it’s time to part, just so he’s not left behind. 

But Geralt leaves him behind after the banquet. Jaskier is left in the ruined hall. He searches the hall for his long-haired friend. He doesn’t realize he’s still clutching the beautiful countess’ hand until she pulls away. He drops it, offering her a nervous smile. It takes him too long to realize Geralt isn’t coming back. 

He doesn’t really have a direction to go to, but ends up back in Novigrad. 

Little Eye is still at the same tavern he left her in, playing a beautiful song about a mermaid who gives up her voice for legs. It’s his song, the one he wrote on their trip to the coast. 

He must be entering near the end of her set, because she sings one more song and hops off the stool she was sitting on, sliding in beside him. 

“You utter arse,” she says, but he doesn’t hear what she says next because he bursts into tears. Embarrassing, really, but he has had a _long_ week and seeing a familiar face is enough to make him crack. 

It’s not that he thinks Geralt is mad at him. Geralt just accidentally acquired a child and that is a lot to deal with! He needs space to figure it out! Jaskier understands. Still, he had plans. To make up for forcing (he didn’t force him, Geralt could’ve said no) him to accompany him, Jaskier had packed a bag full of the honey bread Geralt likes. They were going to settle in a big, comfy bed and eat sweets until their fingers were sticky and their stomachs sated, and then Geralt would actually rest for the night and they’d be happy. It didn’t end that way. Jaskier had eaten all the honey bread on the way here, not willing to waste food. He should’ve bought some more for Essi. 

He also has little doubts creeping into his head. What if Geralt is mad at him? What if he doesn’t want to see him again? After all, Jaskier brought him here… 

Essi, being the _fabulous_ friend she is, takes one look at the weeping man and orders a bottle of est est. Misery loves company, and the company is best with more alcohol than recommended. The wine and the companionship cheers him greatly and loosens the claws of his fears. 

His night begins with sorrow and ends with wine and laughter and a wonderful friend.

His morning begins with an emptier purse than he fell asleep with and a note demanding he stops running off on adventures before paying his bills. 

***

They’re in Vizima, another bardic competition. 

It starts with a cough. 

She claims it’s a tickle in her throat, that she’ll be okay after a mug of ale. She can still sing, she assures him, as if that’s what he’s worried about. 

The mug of ale doesn’t help.

He knows something’s wrong when she asks him to stop talking, that her head is killing her. 

She wakes up the next day delirious with fever. Her head is on fire, Jaskier desperately wiping her burning forehead with a cloth of cold water as she cries out and shivers. 

He learns that this wasn’t the beginning. Vizima has been sick, but too afraid to say anything. It was only in the lower villages, no need to raise alarm quite yet. 

But they are in the lower villages, and soon the sick and poor flood the streets, and his poor Essi is lucky in only the sense that he has the coin to keep them in a room with a hearth. 

He pats her curls, breath coming slower as her clammy skin turns red and starts to blister. 

The room isn’t lucky enough. He staggers down the stairs, the soiled sheets clutched to his chest, the precious bundle held close. His only thought is going somewhere pretty, she needs to be somewhere pretty. He finally sinks to his knees under some trees and sobs. 

It ends with broken nails and a pearl covered in dirt. Lost save for in a song, it ends with a cold woman and a silent lute. 

***

He wrote her a song, years back. A song of a witcher and a poet who fell in love and lived happily ever after. 

That’s not how it happened. That’s how it should’ve happened. Her story isn’t supposed to be over yet. There is still so much she was supposed to see, so many more hours of laughter, of love, of joy and pain and anger and everything that is human. 

He writes her a song, and he has never sung it. 

Tonight, under the covers of the trees, while his nails are still bloody and his entire body aching from the grief and the labour, he plays it. 

He thinks he hears some rustling in the trees as he picks up the lute and starts singing, a growl tapering off and falling into silence when the heartbroken notes pour from his lips. 

His song ends with a howl. Whether it comes from himself or the wolves that howl at the moon, his only witness, he does not know. 

The wolves don’t come for him tonight. He wouldn’t particularly care if they did. He never sings this song again, keeping it between him and the memory of his sweet Little Eye. 

***

The (not so, not anymore) little princess sits at his feet, staring up at him with a familiar expression of awe, one that breaks and heals his heart all at once. 

He sings to her softly, singing about a beautiful, brave girl by the sea, a pearl as blue as the sky, of laughter and love. 

After he finishes his song, he gently places the lute down and she clambers onto his lap. Jaskier holds her tight. She may be Geralt’s child, but Jaskier knows that he loves this girl more than anything in the world. Geralt won’t be there for her, but he will. By the gods, he will. He has been, and he won’t leave now. He won’t let what happened before happen again, not to this girl. She _will_ take everything life has to offer and have a happy ending. 

He holds the 9 year old close, listening to her babble on about her pony, a gift from her grandfather. 

“You’re going to be extraordinary,” he whispers into her hair. 

This story, like all the rest, begins with a lute.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, I absolutely do not like Geralt and Essi getting together, but hey, it works for this!
> 
> I found the very end of A Little Sacrifice really interesting, how there’s a line of “Right before the dawn, while it was still dark, a hungry, vicious werewolf crept up to their camp, but saw that it was Dandelion, so he listened for a moment and then went on his way” (Sword of Destiny, p246 if anyone was wondering!). Is Dandelion canonically well-known enough in the creature community for having a good voice? “Do not eat pretty sounding man”? Anyways I thought it was neat and wanted to include that! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
